


Seek and You Shall Find

by Selkit



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Apparently I'm incapable of writing anything other than interspecies pairings, Dwarf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Fluff, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Kissing, Married Couple, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigrid reunites with her husband Fili upon his return from a long mission, and learns the finer points of dwarven foreplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seek and You Shall Find

**Author's Note:**

> I got a kick out of the _Desolation of Smaug_ sequence where the Mirkwood guards kept finding knives in Fili's clothes, and thought it practically begged for, ahem, further exploration. This fic takes place a few years following the events of the movies, so Sigrid is around nineteen years old.

The bow was smooth and cool under Sigrid’s fingers as she drew back the string, blowing out her breath and staring down the arrow’s long shaft. The target seemed to stare back at her, though it was little more than a straw-stuffed burlap sack painted with brightly colored circles. She narrowed her eyes at it, steadying her stance and adjusting her aim. 

The bolt’s flight was straight and true—or so it seemed, anyway, until the instant it hit the target several hands’ breadths above the center. Sigrid pursed her lips in mild annoyance, drawing another arrow from her quiver and fitting it to the bow.

Her father certainly made this look easier than it truly was. Even so, she was beginning to understand why he had spent so many hours honing the skill, particularly in the years following her mother’s death. It was oddly calming, in a way, to lose herself in concentration and let the cares of the world fall away, nothing existing but the weapon in her hands and the distance between her and her target. 

If nothing else, it helped take her mind off the time that had passed since her husband’s departure on a diplomatic mission to the west—

_Six weeks and three days_ , a little voice in her head helpfully reminded her, and her arrow sailed far right of the target’s center as she stifled a yelp of frustration. It didn’t help that the little voice in question always seemed to sound like Tilda in her most prying, nosy, irritating-little-sister moments. 

She sighed and pulled another arrow from the quiver, closing her eyes and shaking off the distractions, taking a moment to center herself.

She would not think of little Tilda or Bain or Da, all of whom she saw far less often now that she was a woman wed, shouldering the duties of a wife and a future queen alike. And she would not think of her husband, who was likely still miles and miles away in some caravan, his muscles working beneath his tunic and his gold-blond locks stirring in the breeze as he urged his horse into a canter—

Her heart skittered in her chest, her breath coming short and sharp, and somehow the arrow left her bow and soared to hit the target’s bullseye with a solid, satisfying _thud_.

For a moment she could only stare at it, her heart pounding in her ears and a delighted smile spreading across her face, until gradually the steady sound of clapping hands broke through the triumphant haze. She spun around, the bow still clutched in her fingers, and saw her husband standing not a stone’s throw away. He leaned against the wall, still clapping, his eyes sparkling and his mouth stretching in an insufferable, irresistible smirk.

“Well done!” he said. “You’ll be putting your father to shame in no time, from the looks of things.”

_“Fili!”_ she cried, and bounded toward him, the target and its arrows quite forgotten. “When did you get back? And how long have you been standing there spying on me, you sneaking cad?”

“Sneaking cad?” He placed one hand over his heart, trying his best to fix her with a pitiful frown, but the mirth still twinkling in his eyes spoiled the effect. “You wound me, love. Is that any way to greet your husband who’s been away for near two months?”

Sigrid wanted nothing more than to barrel into his arms, but she forced herself to stop just shy of him, planting her hands on her hips and looking down at him with one eyebrow raised. “When you put it that way,” she said, “I suppose it’s about as appropriate as creeping up behind someone who’s practicing with a deadly weapon.”

He laughed, and it was the most wonderful sound she’d heard in six weeks and three days. “You have me there,” he said, and tugged her down for a kiss. 

“To answer your question,” he added when they broke apart, some moments later, “I wasn’t standing there very long at all, in fact. I confess, I’m not quite that patient. Especially not the first time I lay eyes on my wife after having been gone for such a spell.”

“You’ll hear no complaints from me on that score,” she murmured, and straightened up, tangling her fingers with his and tugging him gently in the direction of their quarters. “Do we have time for a proper reunion before duty calls us away again?”

“I’ll make time,” he promised, his voice pitching low and his eyes darkening, and Sigrid couldn’t suppress the little thrill that shuddered down her spine. It wasn’t until the latch clicked on their chamber door that she allowed herself to release her breath, turning to let her eyes drift over her husband.

_Husband._ It still felt so strange to even think the word, let alone know it as a reality. Some days she was still tempted to pinch herself in reminder that she no longer dwelled in Lake-town, ever surrounded by chores to be done and siblings to look after, always mindful of her da’s grim warnings that all the young men who smiled and winked at her were likely spies—or worse. 

Never in her wildest girlhood dreams had she imagined wedding a golden-haired dwarf prince who looked at her like she was more precious than any treasure the mountain could offer.

His chuckle broke the silence, startling her out of her reverie. “Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten what I look like?” he asked, a lopsided grin setting his beard braids at uneven angles. 

Sigrid blushed. “No,” she said, making a face at him. “I was just thinking how much I—well. Let me show you.”

She stepped forward and grasped his collar, leaning down to let her mouth brush over his. Fili gave an appreciative murmur low in his throat, his head tilting, lips parting under hers, gently but insistently coaxing her further. Her hands curled in his jacket before slipping down his chest as the kiss deepened, her touch slowly growing bolder as her fingers branched out, exploring. 

“Wait—” Fili murmured into her mouth, then pulled back, breaking the kiss and leaving her with glazed eyes and searching fingers. “Hold up a moment, lass. I need to—” 

He broke off with a sharp exhalation, his own breaths coming more quick and shallow than normal, and reached into his jacket to pull a dagger from an interior pocket. 

“When I leave the mountain, I like to be prepared,” he explained in response to Sigrid’s raised eyebrow. “Best give me a moment to find all the rest.”

“All the rest?” Sigrid echoed, her eyebrows climbing even higher. “How many knives do you have in that outfit?”

It took him a moment to answer, and she hid a smile behind her hand as she realized he was still tallying in his head. 

“A fair number,” he finally admitted, shooting her an apologetic glance. “Begging your pardon for interrupting you, love. Though I certainly liked where you were going,” he added with a wink. “Shouldn’t take more than a minute to finish disarming myself, and then by all means we can pick up where we left off.”

“Fili, wait.” She caught his wrist as he reached back into his jacket, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You have me curious now, husband. I think I’d rather enjoy finding all your daggers myself.”

He blinked, and she heard his breath catch even as a frown flickered in his eyes. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Sigrid. I wouldn’t want you to lose a finger in the process of disrobing me. Might put a bit of a damper on the evening.”

She cocked her head, crossing her arms as she looked down at him. “You remember, don’t you, that I was training with bow and arrows when you arrived home? I’m not a complete stranger to weaponry anymore—nor to handling knives, for that matter. Who do you think spent hours cutting up meat and vegetables every day back in Lake-town? I was the one responsible for having a hot meal ready and waiting when Da returned from the river, weary and chilled to the bone as he always was.”

“Fair enough,” Fili said, the beads woven in his beard catching the light as he grinned. “Although there’s a bit of difference between chopping up vegetables and reaching blind into a man’s coat in search of a dagger.”

“I’ll go slow. And,” she added, letting her voice go soft and heavy with promise, “you’ll get a kiss for every dagger I find. How’s that sound?”

He drew a long, deep breath, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “You know how to make a tempting offer, I’ll give you that,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, then tilted his face up toward her and spread his arms in invitation. “All right, then. I’m all yours, milady.”

“You had best be,” she said, slanting him a playful grin as she knelt, tugging at the laces on his boots. They came free with little trouble, and she pulled off the left one, turning it upside down and letting the hidden knife clatter to the floor.

“Number one,” she announced, and rose to plant a quick kiss on his lips as she tugged off the right boot, finding a second knife within. “And two.”

She let the second kiss linger a bit longer, pulling back when she felt his fingers weave into her hair, his thumb brushing her ear. 

“Sigrid,” he murmured in protest when she broke away, his voice already strained. His golden brows drew together as he shot her an almost plaintive look, and she couldn’t help but grin even as she felt her heartbeat quicken.

“Patience, now,” she chided. “From the sounds of things, I still have a good number of knives left to find.”

He made a grumbling sound deep in his throat, but she could see the glimmer of anticipation in his eyes. “You ask a lot of a man who hasn’t touched his wife in six weeks,” he said, lips turning down in a mock pout. 

Sigrid let her fingers delve into his jacket, searching the lining for hidden pockets. “You forget I haven’t touched my husband in six weeks, either,” she said, a smile flickering across her face as her hand closed around a hilt. 

“And normally I would commend you for your restraint,” Fili began, but the rest of his words disappeared in another kiss, long and slow and sweet. 

“You were saying?” Sigrid asked when she pulled back, eyes still closed, her forehead resting on his. 

His warm breath brushed her neck as he exhaled. “I have no idea.”

She giggled and resumed her search, biting her lip as her fingers skimmed over his chest, all solid muscle even through several layers of clothing. 

“Like that, do you?” Fili murmured, his mouth hovering just behind her ear. One hand drifted to her waist, his thumb drawing little circles on her ribcage. 

“Stop distracting me,” she huffed, meaning to sound stern, but somehow her voice came out as quivery as the heat flickering in her chest. “Ah, here we go.”

The fourth and fifth daggers joined the pile on the floor in short order, and she nipped hungrily at his lips, feeling her own control begin to slip as she pushed the coat off his shoulders. It pooled at his feet, and he kicked it off to the side, both hands cupping her face and drawing her in closer. 

“Are there many more?” she asked between kisses, her voice going high and thready.

“I’ve lost count,” he admitted. “Only one way to find out.”

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his tunic, and she found the sixth and seventh knives tucked inside, the hilts warm from nestling against his skin. She tossed them on the pile and pushed his tunic fully open, lowering her mouth to the curve of his shoulder. 

“That was six, I believe,” she murmured, her teeth grazing lightly over his skin. She let her fingers skim down his chest, her mouth following, and she pressed her lips to his breastbone. “And seven.”

“Mahal,” Fili choked out, and she felt his heart pound beneath her fingers like a blacksmith’s hammer. “Sigrid…”

His voice was hoarse and unsteady, her name trembling on his tongue, and the sound nearly undid her.

“Almost done.” She swallowed, sitting back on her heels and looking up at him. Her throat was dry and her heart was thundering in her ears, but she couldn’t stop a grin from snaking across her face as her eyes drifted downward. “Now there’s nothing left but the trousers, aye?”

“Aye,” Fili echoed, fingers clenching by his sides. “Thank Mahal.”

Sigrid took a deep breath and reached for the laces, pulling at them with unsteady hands. Her fingers slipped inside, running along the waistband before dipping into his pockets, finding slender knives tucked within on either side. She tossed them in the general direction of the pile and eased his trousers down his hips, leaving him standing in nothing but his smallclothes. 

“Eight and nine,” she whispered, and pressed her open mouth to the skin just below his navel, trailing kisses down the path of fine yellow hairs that disappeared beneath his smallclothes. 

His body jerked as he threw his head back, moaning something in Khuzdul, and his hands gripped at her hair with something akin to desperation. She heard her name mixed in among the guttural, unfamiliar syllables, and she shivered, her fingers trembling as they stretched against his heated skin. 

She leaned back, and his hands loosened in her hair before dropping to his sides, letting her sit back on her heels. 

“Well,” she said, her mouth quirking in a mischievous grin as her eyes rested on the distinct bulge in his smallclothes. “Is that a—”

“Don’t even say it,” Fili groaned, covering his eyes with one hand. “Please.”

“Oh, very well.” She giggled and rose to her feet, pulling his hand from his eyes and pressing one more kiss to his lips. “Did I find them all?”

“Indeed.” Fili took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his eyes almost scorching as they swept her from head to toe. “They’ll write songs about your thoroughness, love. And now can I undress you? Please?”

“You may.” She grinned at him through her lashes, her breath catching as he wasted no time in loosening the laces on her dress. “Although somehow I doubt it will be quite so adventurous.”

“Mmm.” He leaned in close, his hand slipping beneath her dress, his mouth curving in a grin that was nothing short of wicked. “We’ll just see about that.”


End file.
